


Face to Face

by flecksofpoppy, theisles



Series: Beyond Walls [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Polyamory Negotiations, Requited Love, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theisles/pseuds/theisles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco never actually intended to get married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Face to Face

**Author's Note:**

> The third installment in my and Dylo's little OT3 canon divergence universe! Jean and Marco come to terms with some feelings that have been there for a long time and finally act on them.

Although as a cadet Jean was notorious for getting into fights and airing his thoughts rather “freely” (as Armin had once put it diplomatically), age has tempered all of them. They’re all a little rougher around the edges, more seasoned, savvier, and overall, less inclined to make mistakes.

However, it’s also made him more of a hard ass with new Survey Corps members.

“Hey! Did I tell you to actually touch your sparring partner? Stand down!”

Marco cringes as he makes his way out to the courtyard. He’s been able to hear Jean terrorizing the new recruits all the way from the mess hall, and most likely, all of Trost beyond the Survey Corps barracks can hear it too.

It’s not that he disapproves of Jean’s methods. Armin fully supports them, and since Jean’s so well respected as a commander, no one questions him. However, Marco’s relatively sure he’s always had a chip on his shoulder since his days of vowing to join the Military Police solely for the lifestyle benefits. Now, in some way, he’s trying to make sure he beats it out of every new soldier that comes along.

He also has a special brand of rage for those who use underhanded tactics to win at sparring, an exercise that’s no longer reserved solely for cadets, particularly at Armin’s insistence. Humanity is far more duplicitous than any of them ever realized, until the factions within factions of the monarchy became more evident.

Marco stands to the side for a moment, arms crossed as he watches the progress of the new group. More and more graduates have been joining the Survey Corps since their scouting missions have yielded increasingly successful results, thanks in part to Armin’s plans, and Erwin’s confidence in his abilities. A good combination to be sure.

Of all the things that everyone expected, though, Jean becoming one of the most beloved commanders in the ranks was definitely not one of them.

Except to Marco, of course.

“I’m sorry, Commander Kirschstein!” blubbers a woeful private, looking for all the world as if he’s just been kicked. “I shouldn’t have let her get at me!”

Marco watches with interest as Jean sighs, his lips downturned in disapproval, but instead of reprimanding the mildly injured kid, he shakes his head.

“Don’t let people knock you down,” he advises, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. If someone else is breaking the rules, don’t just let them do it.”

Jean frowns harshly to get his point across, and then seizes the wooden dagger out of the now-starry-eyed private’s hand and hits the back of his head lightly with the flat side.

“Now get it together and stop slacking off,” he orders, turning on his heel to monitor the progress of the other newly anointed Survey Corps recruits.

“You’re turning into Shadis,” Marco remarks from where he’s standing to the side, a smile tugging at his lips. “What’s next? Picking them up by their heads?”

Jean whirls on his heel sharply to see who’s speaking, and then his expression quickly turns into one of elated surprise as he spots Marco.

“They’re supposed to be one step up from cadets, seeing as how they actually made it into our ranks,” Jean remarks wryly, turning to give Marco his undivided attention. “Aren’t you supposed to meet with one of those flowery dukes in some far-flung shit hole today?”

“He died,” Marco replies simply with a shrug. “There’s an heir, they’re in mourning...” He trails off with a vague hand gesture. The nobles are dying off faster these days, proving that even the rich and influential can’t live forever.

“Isn’t that the one who tried to find an elixir for eternal life or something?” Jean asks, immediately grinning irreverently.

Marco laughs softly and nods, darting a glance around to make sure they’re not overheard yukking it up over dead nobility.

“These little shits,” Jean says under his breath, casting a look of dismay at their new counterparts. “They get more devious and underhanded every year.”

“They must hate you,” Marco replies, trying not to laugh.

“You’d think.”

“Not really,” Marco retorts, leaning against the wall behind him and crossing his arms. “They’ll love you by the end of the first expedition, just like they do every year.”

“Then they’re _crazy_ shits,” Jean replies gruffly, shifting his hips into a defensive stance. After a moment, he chuckles though. “Beat the obedience into them early, so they don’t go fucking up Armin’s formations.”

“You sound like Levi.”

Jean raises an eyebrow; Marco can tell he’s taken it as a compliment though, until regaining his typical sardonic look.

“I don’t care that much about clean floors,” he says airily. “But Levi was right, when he called us shits. We were.”

“They like you because you’re honest and good,” Marco clarifies, immediately amused by the fact that Jean’s mouth snaps shut and he just mumbles something dismissive. “And brave,” he adds.

A mere few years before, Jean would’ve puffed up like a preening bird at the praise; now he’s a little more seasoned, and certain types of flattery make him grumble. Mostly because it’s emerged quite clearly that Jean’s razor-edged emotions and uninhibited responses—or, in other words, his vulnerability—is actually his greatest strength. People trust him because of it. He’s part asshole, part saint, and an excellent leader, just as Marco predicted years ago.

“If I was really ‘honest,’ I would say how pissed I am that I didn’t know you were still here sooner,” he quips, darting a look around before finishing his thought. “And if I’m ‘good,’” he says, his voice lowering, “then I wouldn’t be thinking that we should definitely cut out five minutes early to get what’s left of that breakfast I know they’re serving at that stupid reception for the King’s second cousin’s niece’s grandfather, or whatever it is.”

“You want to go steal leftover breakfast?” Marco asks incredulously.

Jean grins cockily before looking over at the group of wet-behind-the-ears soldiers he’s been tormenting all morning, and without missing a beat, barks, “You’re all let go five minutes early! Those of you on watch, take your posts. The rest of you continue with your assigned work detail. Dismissed!”

There’s the thump of a series of slightly clumsy salutes, and Jean rolls his eyes painfully as he shoos them all away. “I swear, some of them are doing it backward,” he says with a shake of his head. “What’s wrong with these kids? They’ve already graduated, and I know we got at least one or two of the top ten this year.”

“You’re just getting old and crotchety,” Marco retorts playfully, grinning.

“I’m twenty-one, Marco,” Jean deadpans, straightening his bolo tie indignantly.

“And yet, you’ve still got a taste for things we’re not supposed to have, like illicit breakfast meat.” Marco raises an eyebrow, reaching out absently to brush some dust off Jean’s shoulder.

He immediately freezes as Jean tenses, and they just stare at each other.

Marco’s touch would have never been cause for alarm before now; they’ve been watching each other’s backs for years, never thinking twice about it.

But now, just a simple brush of fingers against Jean’s shoulder sends a simultaneous burst of sparks and nerves through both of them that Marco’s not expecting.

Things really are different now.

“Um,” Jean says, breaking the silence and swallowing hard, “let’s go get breakfast.” He tries for a smile, but Marco worries his lip, feeling guilty for making things awkward.

“It’s not you,” Jean blurts out, darting a look around to make sure they’re alone. His voice grows softer, and he rubs the back of his head self-consciously, looking at the ground. “I’m just... it’s new, okay?”

“Okay,” Marco replies gently, trying to catch Jean’s eye and get him to look up. He wants to offer a reassuring touch, but it’s not the right time out in the open like this. Although most everyone is left to their own devices in private, it needs to remain that way.

“I have an idea,” Marco continues, his voice warm and intimate. “Why don’t we have a drink tonight? I’ll bring that new leather oil I was telling you about. Makes our gear way more flexible and last longer.” He swallows, takes a silent breath, and then adds, “And um, we can....”

Jean looks up in surprise, his face looking young and earnest, eyes wide and his mouth hanging open slightly.

“Right. A drink,” he croaks, staring at Marco in overt shock. Marco smiles a little at him, and he feels his heart skip a few beats when an actual _blush_ starts to rise slightly in Jean’s cheeks. “We can polish our leather together,” he finishes abruptly.

Marco just stares at him, Jean stares back, and then they both burst out laughing. 

Jean finally nods in agreement, smiling in that way that Marco lives for. It’s perfectly Jean—a little cocky and brash, but so very genuine.

And with that settled, albeit a few shaky nerves, they go in search of the fabled breakfast, successfully obtained after finding that the banquet reception had barely been touched. 

They part ways with a promise of Marco showing up at Jean’s quarters at seven.

The rest of the day is completely ordinary, but all Marco can think about is their plans for the evening. He chides himself more than once, feeling like he’s about to start his first day of training. In fact, by the time twilight starts to fall, he’s so jittery he might as well salute the wrong way and pledge his loyalty and limbs to the King in a shrill voice. He’s too nervous to even notice the beautiful indigo sky that both he and Armin almost always stop to admire this time of the evening.

Jean Kirschstein—his best friend, comrade, and now Something Else—is waiting for him with a flimsy excuse for them to spend time together behind closed doors. This was never significant, of course, until that fateful afternoon; though Marco can’t say he regrets it.

And the truth is that part of the reason Marco is inconsolably nervous isn’t because he’s intimidated by sex or frightened by intimacy, but rather... that it’s Jean.

 _Jean._ His Jean.

When the time finally comes to make his way to Jean’s door, Marco can barely breathe. He has to actually stop by his own quarters to bathe and fix his hair; not out of any sense of vanity, but solely to find something to occupy his hands.

He’s a little early when he knocks on Jean’s door, then shakes his fingers out self-consciously, trying to remain calm and collected. 

Of course, when the door swings open to reveal Jean’s quarters bathed in soft, inviting light cast by a few oil lamps, he immediately wants to kiss Jean silly. This is also nothing new, since Marco has become a grandmaster of avoiding those types of urges.

“Hi,” he says, trying to smile. He can tell Jean is nervous too, though, from the way he’s staring without blinking.

“Hi,” he replies, his voice forced. “Um, so did you bring the oil?”

“Oil?” Marco asks bemusedly, before he realizes what Jean is talking about, and his eyes widen in dismay. “Oh no! I totally forgot.”

Jean’s head tilts to the side curiously, but there’s something about the fact that Marco neglected to bring the item that was the entire purpose of his visit that seems to put Jean at ease.

“That’s okay,” he says, smiling more genuinely now as he meets Marco’s eyes almost shyly. “I still have that whiskey Connie slipped me for my birthday last year.”

Marco shrugs and snorts; leave it to Connie to discover a bottle of liquor and then, instead of keeping it for himself, give it away as a gift.

“Have you tasted it?” Marco asks curiously, distracted now by the rare treat of whiskey.

“Nope,” Jean says, turning toward a small seldom-used desk in the corner. There are a few papers sitting there that bear his hastily scrawled signature—though still with that impeccable penmanship—and a small bottle of amber liquid. Marco also notices suddenly that Jean’s not wearing his gear.

They don’t speak for a few minutes, but the silence is peaceful now—not nearly as awkward since Jean’s set himself to a task as Marco watches.

He moves purposefully, retrieving two thick glasses from a small shelf. Marco laughs a little as Jean studies them and raises a critical eyebrow, blowing the dust off, and then seizing a rag on a nearby table to wipe them off.

“Swear it’s clean,” he reassures suddenly, looking up.

“I trust you. You’re the most avid laundry enthusiast I know,” Marco quips, smiling. “Your mother taught you well.”

Jean lets out a long-suffering groan as he opens the whiskey, rolling his eyes balefully at Marco. “Don’t remind me.”

“How _is_ your mother?”

“She’s fine,” he grumbles half-heartedly, filling each glass a quarter way full. “One time, she actually told me off for being ‘too harsh’ on the new recruits.” He shoots Marco a critical look. “Reasons not let your family members anywhere near the _military barracks_. They’ll critique your command style.”

“Ouch,” Marco chuckles. He doesn’t know how his own family would assess his skills, although for the most part, they generally trust him to do his best.

Jean places the two glasses on a small side table with two chairs, and Marco settles into one of them. It’s old, and the wooden joints squeak slightly—a stark contrast to the furnishings offered to the Military Police—though Jean’s never once complained.

“Should we toast something?” Marco asks, bending forward to inhale the scent of the liquor, strong and harshly fragrant.

Suddenly, he wonders how it’d taste on Jean’s lips.

“I guess,” Jean replies with a shrug, sitting down at the opposite side of the table and staring into his own glass thoughtfully. He looks up, meeting Marco’s eyes, and there’s an unexpectedly intense look on his face.

“What?” Marco asks curiously, picking up his own thick glass to hide behind it.

“I know what we should toast to,” Jean says solemnly, dropping his eyes again. There’s a heavy pause, as if he’s deliberating his next sentence. “Do you know why I’m so hard on the new Survey recruits every year?”

Marco’s not expecting this line of conversation, and he cocks his head to the side. “Uh... to reinforce work ethic, and your sadistic streak?”

Jean makes a dismissive noise and rolls his eyes, and Marco smiles a little at the response.

“No,” he says firmly, serious again. “It’s because I don’t want to make them carry their friends home.”

Marco immediately sobers, his lips flattening. “Jean,” he says softly, shaking his head, “I know that. No one wants that.”

“Well,” Jean says, his voice suddenly froggy, “it almost happened to me once. We have enough casualties, and I don’t want to take any chances. We need to be there for each other.”

Marco’s mouth falls open and he just stares at Jean in shock; he wasn’t expecting this to come up.

“You almost died,” Jean murmurs, his shoulders stiff and his jaw tense. “I... I just think about it sometimes.” They sit there in silence for a moment, before Jean slowly raises his eyes. “I think about it a lot more lately, though.”

Marco can’t help his reaction; he doesn’t think, and just does. 

Jean’s hand is warm in his own as he reaches out to clasp their fingers together over the table. His voice is soft and confident as he replies, “But that didn’t happen. Eren plugged the hole, we rebuilt, and I’m still here.” He squeezes Jean’s hand slightly, hoping that it’s reassuring, before letting go to seize the glass. “Let’s not toast to that,” he offers, raising it slightly and motioning for Jean to do the same. “Let’s toast to the fact that I’m not in some flowery ‘shit hole,’ and instead, I’m here with you.”

That earns a soft, almost sentimental smile out of Jean, and he nods a little. “Okay,” he replies, sounding almost weary.

They clink glasses and both take long draws of the whiskey. Marco savors every single drop—a true delicious rarity in their world.

“Hm,” Jean hums, sighing deeply, “that’s good. Totally worth saving.”

Marco barely hears the words since he’s busy staring at Jean’s lips, and then feels his breath hitch as they purse and his tongue slicks over them.

“Marco?”

Marco blinks in surprise, startled out of his reverie, and he takes another quick sip of his drink. “Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, trying not to laugh at his own ridiculous antics. “Um...”

“Were you...” Jean starts, the words dissipating as he coughs self-consciously. “Were you staring at my mouth?” It’s obvious that getting the question out for him is akin to trying to ride a horse backwards, but he manages it.

“Yeah,” Marco confirms, deciding honesty is the best policy here, especially where Jean is concerned. “I was wondering how whiskey would taste on your lips,” he says very softly, and he swears he can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Jean licks his lips again, but his eyes dart over Marco’s face, then down to his shoulders and chest with interest.

“Do you want to see?” Jean finally asks just as softly, meeting Marco’s gaze hesitantly.

Marco’s chair scrapes across the floor with a shrill noise as he stands up, and Jean looks like a Titan has just appeared in front of him as he watches Marco round the table.

Marco forces himself not to think, not to question, not to plan. He follows his instincts—which admittedly aren’t as good as Jean’s—and strides over to stand behind Jean. He places two hands on each of Jean’s shoulders which are very tense; but then, as he bends, Jean turns his head so that their lips meet at the exact same time.

The kiss is awkward, sideways, and imperfect; it’s the best kiss Marco’s ever shared with another person, and he can confirm that whiskey tastes _much_ better on Jean’s lips that it does by itself. To his surprise, he also feels a gentle hand reach up to cup his face, and he presses his own hand against the back of Jean’s.

Finally, the kiss breaks, and as they draw back, they’re both panting. 

Jean looks at Marco out of the corner of his eye, obviously trying to regain his bearings, and then murmurs, “It feels like the first time we’ve kissed.”

Marco straightens and squeezes Jean’s shoulders in response, starting to rub them slowly; he immediately feels the tension start to dissipate and Jean lets out a low groan of appreciation.

“Not quite the first time. Do you remember...” Marco clears his throat self-consciously, feeling a little silly, but continues nonetheless, “that time you kissed me in your sleep, when we were cadets?”

To his surprise, Jean lets out a low laugh, a smile evident in his voice as he replies, “I thought you were going to deck me.”

Marco relaxes a bit, leaning closer. “I’ve never even hit another person, at least not seriously,” he retorts contritely. “You were the one who was always getting into fights.”

Jean shrugs a little, but he doesn’t disagree. Marco also tries to stop his breath from catching as Jean reaches up to stroke his fingers again. He suddenly feels like he’s back in training all over again, trying to stop his heart from hammering its way out of his chest because Jean Kirschstein is displaying outward, definitely-not-platonic affection.

Marco can’t resist the urge anymore—particularly since he’s been resisting for the last five years—as he bends to rub his cheek against Jean’s hair, then presses his nose there, inhaling deeply.

Jean’s fingers tense against Marco’s, and he takes in a staggered breath.

It’s almost ridiculous the effect that a few simple touches and chaste kisses are having on both of them, considering that just a few weeks ago, Jean was on his hands and knees pleasuring Marco with his mouth.

But it’s undeniable that it’s different this time, that being alone together is a whole different scenario.

Marco’s heart speeds up again as Jean tilts his head to the side as if in invitation, and he immediately bends to kiss gently at the juncture of neck and shoulder.

“You smell good,” he whispers impulsively, pressing his nose against Jean’s neck. “You always smell good.”

Jean moans softly. It’s a tentative sound, more like a hiccup than a seductive groan of a confident lover, but also purely reactionary, unplanned, intuitive.

“Does that feel good?” Marco whispers into Jean’s ear, feeling breathless himself.

“Y-yeah,” Jean stammers quietly, suddenly hoarse. “Um...” Marco waits patiently for the rest of the sentence, continuing to mouth at his neck.

“What is it?” he prompts when Jean doesn’t continue.

“Can we get on the bed?” Jean finally asks in a rush of breath.

Marco smiles sweetly, straightening to grab Jean’s hand and pull him to stand up. “Yeah,” he says, feeling his heart swell, “that sounds good.”

Jean finally stands up, looking dazed as he turns to face Marco, and then they just stare at each other.

He’s blushing—a trait Jean never grew out of his when he’s nervous—and he’s looking everywhere except Marco’s eyes. He’s nervous, and Marco reaches out to curl a hand reassuringly around his waist, pulling him close.

And it becomes obvious that Jean has no idea how long Marco has loved him; been _in_ love with him. Watched him grow from an angry kid into a leader, the type of good man their world so desperately needs.

“I want you,” Marco breathes, unable to stop himself, “more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.”

That earns a surprised, sharp breath, and Marco decides it’s time to make himself completely clear.

“I’m glad you didn’t kiss me again,” he continues in a hushed voice, pressing flush up against Jean now, “because then we would’ve stopped, once we grew up.” He embraces Jean tightly, relieved to feel the tension start to leave from the familiar, strong body. 

To his surprise, Jean suddenly chooses that moment to respond. “You taught me what a best friend is,” he replies softly, returning the embrace slowly. “And other things...” Then Jean’s lips are on his and Marco feels like he can’t breathe.

Jean still tastes like whiskey, and then he feels a hand slide up into his hair, fingers curling there.

Their journey to the bed is awkward and perfect and makes Marco feel like a teenager again, stumbling and laughing like idiots as Jean lands on his back, smiling in that rare way that’s completely earnest and open and trusting.

“Why _does_ this feel different?” Jean asks suddenly just as Marco’s getting comfortable next to him.

“You mean like it’s the first time?” Marco asks softly, nuzzling at Jean’s jaw and kissing him there. “Even though...” That gets a slightly blush and he laughs softly.

“Yeah,” Jean replies with a slight nod. “Considering...”

“Right,” Marco finishes, drawing back to meet his eyes. The truth is that he’s not totally sure, but unsurprisingly, Jean lets his intuition kick in and answers succinctly. 

“Because... it’s you,” he says, eyes immediately darting away. “But what about Armin?”

“What about Armin?” Marco asks curiously, pausing to study Jean’s expression. 

“Well, isn’t this...” Jean continues, hesitating with a pensive expression, “aren’t we... um... isn’t this going behind his back?”

“No,” Marco answers immediately. “We all already said that we’re in this together.”

“I know,” Jean replies, picking idly at a thread of his coverlet. Marco bites his lip as he recognizes that it’s the one his sister made Jean a few years before.

“Do you trust Armin any less than you trust me?”

“No,” Jean replies immediately, looking almost offended at the suggestion. “Of course not.”

“You like his approval,” Marco adds carefully, raising a knowing eyebrow at Jean. “Don’t you?”

Jean’s mouth immediately flattens into a straight, stubborn line, but he doesn’t deny it. “I’m not poking fun at you,” Marco soothes, tipping his head to kiss the tense line off Jean’s lips. “I’m saying it’s different. You don’t want the same things from me, right?”

That earns a meditative hum in response, and finally, Jean starts to relax again. “Well, that’s true.”

“Last week Armin sucked me off in his office.”

Jean lets out a startled, surprised sound as he sits up slightly to stare at Marco, and then he starts to laugh, covering his face with a hand in mortification. “Did you braid his hair, too?”

Now it’s Marco’s turn to flush, but he has to admit it since he just called out Jean on his praise kink. “Maybe,” he mumbles, biting his lip, but deciding to be fair.

That stops Jean’s chuckling, and then he stares at Marco, until he explodes in outright laughter. “Oh my god, you did!”

“So?”

Jean sobers slightly, and then it’s his turn to press an apologetic kiss against Marco’s collarbone. “I guess you’re right,” he agrees finally, his voice calm again. “I won’t call him on Armina next time.”

“Don’t do that,” Marco corrects, grinning subtly. “He’ll think you’re losing your mind if you don’t rib him about wearing his hair in a braid.”

“I’m not that much of an asshole,” Jean defends, his eyes wide. Marco just raises an eyebrow, and Jean makes a face.

“So,” Marco continues, his attention focused back on the present, “are you okay with this?”

In response, Jean pulls Marco forward again, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “How long have you wanted this?”

Marco hesitates. He can tell the question is born partially from genuine curiosity, partially posed as a casual inquiry; he’s not sure whether to be completely honest. However, given that Jean hasn’t shied away once from candidness, he decides to tell the truth.

“Since we were sixteen,” he replies in an even voice, and then braces for impact, whatever it might be.

That does earn a pause, and Jean pulls back with wide eyes to meet Marco’s. “Wait, really?” Jean stammers, searching Marco’s face for some explanation.

“Uh huh.” He shrugs slightly with a nod. “I thought it’d be obvious by now.”

Jean studies him for a moment, and to Marco’s surprise, he suddenly realizes that Jean is holding something back, too. What it might be, though, he’s unsure. Possibly a declaration of requited feelings, but there’s something a little different hanging in the air.

“I thought you were going to get married,” Jean says softly, fixing Marco with a guarded expression. “Everyone wants to marry you.”

Marco laughs softly, feeling his cheeks heat at the compliment, but he shakes his head. “I don’t know about _that_ , even though it’s flattering.”

“It’s not flattery,” Jean continues with raised eyebrows, studying Marco’s face intently. “It’s just the truth.” 

“Who would I even marry?” Marco asks, pulling away to lean back on his elbows, intrigued by this unexpected conversation.

Jean just shrugs, and then Marco blinks as he realizes Jean looks downright... _sheepish_. He’s biting his lip, a guileless, almost embarrassed expression on his face.

“I don’t know,” Jean finally answers with a slight shrug, watching closely. “A woman.”

“Why would I get married?” Marco retorts, raising an eyebrow. Not hesitating—he’s spent far too long doing just that—he reaches out to brush his thumb along Jean’s cheekbone. “And why would you think I’d necessarily want a woman?”

“Well, it’s not like you can marry a man,” Jean reasons, and Marco is heartened when he doesn’t pull away from the intimate touch.

“Who says I want to marry anyone?”

That seems to stump Jean whose mouth immediately shuts, and he just looks slightly confounded. 

“What about you?” Marco asks, turning the question around. “Who do you want to marry?”

“I don’t want to marry anyone,” Jean immediately blurts, a rather dark scowl on his face. “And I don’t want you to, either.”

Marco doesn’t mean to lose control of his expression, but he can’t help the way his eyes widen and his mouth falls open. His hand drops, too, and he just stares at Jean incredulously.

Jean, for once, doesn’t shy away, and just stares right back.

“How long... have you felt that way?” Marco asks softly after a few moments of charged silence.

“Since we were sixteen,” Jean replies immediately, echoing Marco’s words.

“And how long have you felt that way about Armin?” Marco can’t help but asking.

“More recently,” Jean replies, his voice surprisingly confident. Marco nods in agreement; their feelings seem to be similar. “But... you were different.” Jean sighs, breaking eye contact to roll onto his back and stare at the ceiling. Marco studies at the strong line of his jaw, a little stubble there, his eyes tired and his hair mussed.

And as always, Marco’s pulse speeds up. Scrutinizing Jean too closely has always gotten this reaction out of him.

“Why was I different?” Marco asks, his voice hushed now.

“Because I’ve wanted it longer,” Jean replies. “And... because it just is.” He turns his head to meet Marco’s eyes again, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t compare Armin to you,” he adds bluntly. “It’s just...”

“Different,” Marco finishes for him with a nod. “I get it. I feel the same way.”

Jean shifts with a sigh and a yawn, crossing his hands over his chest as he goes back to staring at the ceiling, obviously lost in thought.

But it suddenly strikes Marco very clearly that things are different now when it comes to his feelings for Jean: he doesn’t have to pine quietly, doesn’t have to push away thoughts of Jean when he jerks off, doesn’t have to avoid staring at Jean’s lips for too long.

“So,” he says, making Jean start as he sidles up close, “I guess this entire conversation makes us sixteen again anyway, right?”

Jean laughs softly, his voice gravelly and masculine, and he smiles a little as he looks at Marco—it’s sweet, which is particularly rare for Jean, and Marco’s heart thuds almost out of his chest. 

He really is sixteen.

They don’t talk again as Marco leans forward to press a soft kiss against Jean’s jaw, inhaling the scent of his skin as Jean sighs at the touch.

The room seems soft and full of nighttime quiet as Marco unbuttons Jean’s shirt slowly, kissing at his collarbones and chest as he goes. Even though he knows what’s underneath now, what Jean looks like naked, he still goes slow; unexpectedly, Jean grabs his hand and pulls it up to press a soft kiss into the palm.

It’s sentimental and affectionate—two qualities Marco never expected from Jean, even under these circumstances.

And then Marco gasps as Jean suddenly reverses their positions, pushing Marco onto his back and unbuttoning his shirt with those deft fingers quickly.

Marco groans and arches his back, enjoying Jean’s assertiveness, and smiles as the shirt is pushed away from his shoulders.

“Keep smiling like that,” Jean murmurs almost inaudibly as he kisses down Marco’s chest, stopping to pay attention to his nipples and sliding his hand down to stroke gentle fingers over a hip.

Marco hums and can’t help but keep smiling since Jean is currently doing very nice things to his chest, and he twists his hand in Jean’s forever tousled hair.

Soft lips move slowly down Marco sternum, then to the sensitive skin on his stomach, down further until Jean is shamelessly mouthing at the waistband of his pants and heading in a direction Marco is all too happy to accommodate. 

“Jean?” he gasps as those mesmerizing lips pass over his ribs with kisses that have gone from being sweet to almost reverent, slow and meditative.

“Hm?” Jean asks, obviously distracted.

“Let’s get undressed.” Marco looks down to meet Jean’s eyes, and Jean immediately grins at him.

It’s as simple as that to get their clothes off, and there’s something about the earnestness of fumbling to unbutton shirts and pants, peeling off socks and shimmying out of underwear, that makes Marco feel profoundly exposed. They undress the way that cadets too after growing used to each other, no longer concerned with modesty so much as getting clean as quickly as possible mid-way through training.

“You were always such a prude in the showers,” Marco grins once they’re both naked as he grabs Jean playfully, pulling him on top. “Remember when you wouldn’t even clean up the first night because you were embarrassed?”

Jean flicks him in the shoulder, obviously quite pleased to be where he is—naked and warm against Marco’s slightly broader frame—and he belies the action with a grin.

“It’s not my fault you were flaunting yourself,” he retorts snarkily, curling against Marco affectionately and sighing.

“You’re such an asshole,” Marco murmurs with a laugh. “I wasn’t flaunting anything. I didn’t have anything to flaunt.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Jean replies softly, fixing Marco with a telling look. “At least, later on.”

“I never caught you looking,” Marco replies, smiling in a way he knows makes him look like a complete idiot, but not caring one bit.

“Looking?” Jean exclaims, his eyes wide. “I was too nervous to even think about it.”

Marco chuckles at the memory and shakes his head, embracing Jean and sliding a hand down his spine. The muscles flex under the touch, and he revels in the strength of Jean’s defined back.

He flexes his hips, and Jean immediately gasps, meeting him halfway.

“Fuck,” he exhales.

The fact is, it’s not just the contact; it’s also suddenly intense, being so close.

“Jean...” Marco whispers as Jean leans forward to press their foreheads together. 

He gasps as Jean shifts his hips down, panting as they begin to frot against each other. The bed squeaks a little as they move slowly together, and he can feel Jean’s breath against his lips, can practically taste that whiskey still lurking there.

They kiss messily—that is to say, wonderfully—and Marco feels Jean slide one hand down his side slowly.

“Really like your skin,” comes the murmured compliment, and then the kiss is interrupted by a small smile. “Touching.”

“I like touching,” Marco exhales breathlessly, sliding one hand up into Jean’s hair and letting the other rest at the small of his back. “I like it when you touch me especially.”

Jean’s just as breathless now, and he nods enthusiastically. They both groan as Jean presses his hips down more forcefully, and Marco can feel how hard they both are.

“Jean?”

“Hm?” Jean hums, distracted as he slides his fingers up and down Marco’s side, kissing at ears and jaw now.

“Have you ever fucked anyone?”

“Yeah,” comes the easy response, followed by an amused question. “Did you think I was a virgin?”

“Um,” Marco corrects, “I meant... not women.”

Jean pulls back and fixes Marco with a surprised stare, and then to Marco’s amazement, he replies, “Just once.” There’s a slight shrug that seems to be straightforward. “Tried it at a brothel one time. I was curious, but it’s a little more... complicated.”

Marco laughs warmly, nodding. “Would you want to try with me?” he asks carefully, not wanting to betray how badly he’d like Jean to do just that.

“You mean...” Jean asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’d want me... to you?”

“Yeah,” Marco replies, reaching up again to brush his fingers along Jean’s jaw. He can’t stop doing it now that he’s allowed to touch what he’s been studying for years.

Jean contemplates for a moment, and then he reaches up to press his hand against the back of Marco’s. “Okay,” he agrees with a slight nod. “Although it’s not like I know what I’m doing... that one time wasn’t exactly a learning experience.” He frowns a little, and Marco waits in curiosity. “Actually, I didn’t really like it... I know that sex is a business, but it just seemed like he didn’t want to.”

Marco’s eyes widen as Jean’s story starts to get a little more complex.

“Well, actually, I stopped halfway through.” His mouth tightens, and Marco recognizes the emotion suddenly as guilt. “It wasn’t that I hurt him, and I know it’s a _brothel_ , but...” He just shakes his head. “I don’t want to do that to someone against their will.”

“So, you had kind of a bad experience,” Marco remarks carefully, taking Jean’s hand.

“That sounds pretty dramatic,” Jean quips, shooting Marco a skeptical look.

“You don’t like hurting people.” Marco meets the look eye for eye. “How long did it bother you?”

“Two years,” Jean replies immediately, not even bothering to deny it.

“And when did it happen?”

“Two years ago,” comes the confirmation.

“Well,” Marco says, maneuvering Jean to the side so that they’re lying across from the each other, “I want you, and if it hurts, I’ll tell you. Okay?” Jean nods a little, but Marco can tell a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “Are you sure you still want to?”

“Yeah,” Jean replies softly without hesitation, “I want to a lot, actually.”

Marco smiles at him reassuringly, reaching out to trace Jean’s shoulder with his fingertips, taking time to memorize the contour of muscle and collarbones, before sliding his hand down to Jean’s cock.

That earns a gasp, and then a low moan as Jean’s eyes flutter shut; his mouth falls open and his back arches, sending a shimmer of heat and emotion through Marco.

“You like that?” Marco asks in a soft growl, stroking slowly as he nuzzles the juncture of Jean’s neck and shoulder. 

“Y-yeah,” Jean groans, obviously overwhelmed with the sensation. Marco would have never thought it was possible to inspire the expression of razor edged emotion on Jean’s face from a simple hand job, but this is a little different.

Because this is them.

“Do you have any of that lubricant?” Marco asks, a little breathless himself now from watching Jean. “It’ll make it even better.”

Jean nods and rolls over clumsily toward the small nightstand next to his bed, one of his normally graceful hands fumbling to reach into the drawer so desperately that Marco stifles a laugh.

“Shut up, Bodt,” Jean grumbles, shooting a glare Marco’s way that only earns him a contrite grin in return.

Finally, he finds the small glass bottle and rolls back over, handing it to Marco with shaky hands.

Marco kisses his forehead tenderly—which, to his personal delight, immediately causes Jean’s cheeks to flush—and he reaches down again, starting to stroke in earnest.

Jean’s hand immediately clamps down on his shoulder, eyes falling shut as he tries to breathe, little moans caught in the back of his throat. 

Marco has never seen something as beautiful as Jean’s face when he draws his eyebrows together, looking like he wants to cry and come at the same time. It’s that typical intensity, only Marco is responsible for eliciting it with only a touch.

Suddenly, Jean catches his hand, interrupting the smooth strokes. Before Marco can ask what he did wrong, he finds himself directed onto his stomach, a few kisses pressed against the small of his back, and then...

“Is it okay if I... use my tongue?” 

Marco lets out a groan and he slurs out an affirmative. He wasn’t expecting Jean to take the initiative, but now that it’s happening, he finds himself totally lost in a haze of unadulterated pleasure.

But he also feels very vulnerable as Jean parts his buttocks, kissing at the backs of his legs before brushing his tongue between them.

“Here,” he says, drawing away slightly, “get up on your hands and knees. It’ll be easier.”

Marco can barely keep his arms steady as he complies obediently, trying to keep his breathing even as he presses his chest against the bed and lifts his ass in the air.

There’s something about this position he’s always had mixed feelings about. Maybe because the few times that anyone’s ever had him like this, they’d been unsure of what they were doing, and the entire experience just became awkward and unfulfilling.

But Jean knows what his goal is, experience or no, and he’s nothing short of enthusiastic; and the way that he moans long and low as Marco sighs, moving his tongue and using the new position to stroke Marco’s cock at the same time, leaves Marco trembling.

The entire bed smells like Jean, the handmade comforter reminding Marco of their long friendship, of Jean visiting his family the first year after they’d joined the Survey Corps together. How much his sisters and mother loved the “handsome young man who was getting tall.”

How much Marco loves him.

“Is that good?” Jean asks, drawing away and startling Marco out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” Marco exhales hard, turning his head to look at Jean, pleasure radiating throughout his lower body in a way that’s simultaneously hot but also lovely. Jean knows how to use his mouth, and if Marco wasn’t a quivering mess of emotions before, he certainly is now.

“Flip over,” Jean requests simply, and Marco’s almost relieved to collapse and roll onto his back. The effort of holding himself up with Jean’s tongue doing what it had been was getting to be too much to maintain.

And then, Marco’s legs are pulled over Jean’s strong shoulders, his knees bent to hold him there, and he feels a hot, wet mouth slide down over his not-insubstantial cock. For one terrible moment, as Jean hesitates, he looks like he’s going to gag; but then he slowly pulls off, readjusting, and slides his head forward again.

“That’s really good,” Marco sighs, settling back to rest his head against the pillow and close his eyes, trying to keep his hips still and let Jean go at his own pace. “Jean, oh god...” He clumsily searches for Jean’s hair and twists his fingers in it.

Jean speeds up with a few bobs of his head, using his free hand to pull back Marco’s foreskin, and Marco cries out at the perfect pressure and wet heat. At first, all he can feel is Jean’s mouth and tongue, but then there’s something almost more intoxicating about the noises Jean himself is making, about the way that a few beads of sweat have formed on his shoulders.

When Marco feels a slick finger come to rub at his entrance, he groans his approval, and cries out sharply as Jean slowly pushes it forward. He’s very careful, slowing the motions of his mouth at the same time, and Marco just murmurs words of encouragement that turn into sharp moans as Jean finds his prostate without much direction.

Nonetheless, Marco can only whimper, “Right there, _there, there, there..._ ” over and over until the words begin to sound absurd to even him. However, they only seem to spur Jean on until he’s managed to fit two fingers, fucking Marco outright.

Marco can feel an orgasm slowly building, and he lets out a warning sound; he doesn’t want to come yet, because he desperately wants to come at the same time as Jean.

“Wait,” he says, tugging gently at Jean’s hair to get his attention, “I don’t want to come without you.”

Jean immediately draws away, his face beautifully flushed as he settles back on his knees and tries to catch his breath. Then, he nods fervently, not losing the urgency of the moment, and Marco swears he’s never seen anything as perfect as the way Jean looks in bed when he’s so eager to please.

“How do you want to...” he asks, gesturing vaguely in a way that makes Marco laugh.

He feels a little silly, but since Jean asked, he decides to be honest.

“I want to see your face,” he replies softly. “Is that okay?”

There’s a hard swallow, but Jean nods, locking eyes with Marco who just smiles in return. He settles back against the pillow behind him, holding out his hand to Jean invitingly. 

Jean doesn’t hesitate as he situates himself between Marco’s legs, stretching out to get on top and smooth his hand tenderly down Marco’s side to his hip. He does it again, and again, until Marco can’t help but shoot his hand out to grip Jean’s shoulder tightly.

There’s something so intimate about the way Jean strokes his skin, the way fingers glide past and trace the freckles, that it would be suffocating with anyone else; even for Marco, who generally considers himself easy going about sex. But the overwhelming emotion that Jean’s touch inspires is a different matter altogether.

It’s been five years; touches like these matter now more than ever.

“I want you,” he growls softly, reaching for Jean and pulling their bodies closer together.

“Want you, too,” Jean whispers, almost trembling as Marco wraps legs eagerly around his hips. He presses his mouth against Marco’s as he reaches down, taking the time to slick some more of the lubricant over his cock, and then lining himself up.

“Breathe with me,” Marco whispers against Jean’s lips as he slowly pushes forward.

The room seems like a dream now, filled with only ambient, yellow light and Jean’s staggered sighs; then air punctuated by Marco’s soft cry as Jean pushes all the way in.

He clings as best he can, pulling his knees up around Jean’s waist, feeling exposed and vulnerable since he’s completely prone, reveling in the sensation. He feels safe and ecstatic, bursting with what he knows now is love—the type of dangerous, unpredictable love that common people marry for if there’s no other gains to be had.

There are so many things Marco wants to tell Jean as they move together, his feet curled against the backs of Jean’s thighs as his powerful body thrusts into Marco—how longing turned into something else years ago, how Jean feels like part of his heart, how he cried after Trost. Not because he almost died, but because he almost lost Jean.

He knows Jean cried, too, even if he only admitted while drunk one night at a tavern, still looking sheepish about the whole thing.

“Tell me you want me,” Jean rumbles into Marco’s ear, kissing him there as he moves. “Tell me.”

“I want you,” Marco gasps, fumbling to splay a hand across Jean’s shoulders, feeling the slight sweat on his skin. 

The bed is squeaking slightly, but it’s a pleasant sound, almost drowned out by the way their breathing intermingles, harsh and full of promises, a confessional meeting of many unspoken things.

Marco pushes his cheek against Jean’s stubbly one, moaning and flexing his legs every time Jean pushes forward. “I fucked myself and thought of you,” he groans, not caring enough anymore to preserve any sense of modesty. “I fucked my own fingers and said your name.”

“Fuck, Marco...” Jean gasps, angling his face so they can kiss. “Say my name now.”

“ _Jean,_ ” Marco cries, shrill and loud, “need you, _need you_...”

He knows he’s panting, that he sounds like he’s lost his mind, repeating words over and over. But he doesn’t care.

“Need you, need you...” It echoes like a shared, erratic heartbeat, and right now, that’s exactly how Marco wants it.

“I’m gonna...” Jean murmurs, and then slows down. “Wait...”

He stops completely, and to Marco’s surprise, slides out gingerly. But then he moves his hips, eliciting a different type of gasp out of Marco as he feels Jean’s cock slide against his own.

There’s more lubricant, more slickness, and then Jean wraps his hand around both of them and strokes them to completion together.

Then it’s just a series of grunts, fragments of names, and finally, an orgasm that rips a scream from Marco’s throat he’s sure wakes up half the barracks. Jean comes at almost the same time—which is exactly what Marco wanted—and then they’re a slick mess of tangled limbs and racing pulses.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jean sighs, collapsing on top of Marco. He presses his cheek against Marco’s chest, kissing tiredly and nuzzling collarbones. 

“That was really good,” Marco says softly, holding Jean close, having no intention of letting him go.

They lie there together for what seems like hours. Marco thinks at some point that Jean might fall asleep, but he doesn’t. His breathing evens out, but he’s still very much awake, fingers tracing lazy circles against Marco’s upper arm. It’s a tender touch, much more intimate than the way that anyone has ever touched Marco before.

“Did you really do what you said?” Jean asks suddenly, his voice soft and sleepy.

“Yes,” Marco replies earnestly.

“Why... why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Jean asks, sounding almost hurt. He pulls away enough to meet Marco’s eyes, his expression open and concerned. 

“Because I didn’t think it was a good idea.” Marco sighs lightly, sliding his hand up to stroke through Jean’s hair. “And it wasn’t,” he adds firmly. It’s not a statement for show, but just true.

“Why?”

“None of this would’ve gone the way it has,” Marco explains, pressing a quick kiss to Jean’s lips. “Armin wouldn’t be part of this, we would’ve been too nervous to really do anything about it anyway, and it wasn’t the right time...” He trails off, debating whether to add the last part, but decides to anyway. “But now is, I think,” he finishes softly.

Jean studies him, evaluating the explanation, but then seems satisfied with the logic. “I guess so,” he finally agrees. “If we’d done anything in training, or after...” 

“It would’ve fizzled out,” Marco says frankly. “It wouldn’t have been...”

“Like this,” Jean finishes quietly. He nods a little, then pulls away to settle on his back before holding his arm out for Marco. “Will you spend the night?”

Marco smiles at him, happily curling next to Jean; somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d worried this would go the way of a casual roll in the sheets, would feel foolish about how Jean makes his heart speed up.

But that’s clearly not the case.

“I’ll spend the night as often as you want,” he replies softly, pressing his nose against Jean’s shoulder to inhale deeply. “But maybe we should clean up a little first.”

That earns a chuckle, and they do just that before settling down under Jean’s fresh, clean sheets together.

Marco falls asleep first, and when he opens his eyes again, it’s as if no time has passed at all. He could probably spend several days just lying in Jean’s bed, lounging around naked and pressed up against that warm, strong body he’s so used to.

“‘Morning,” Jean greets him sleepily, and Marco almost blushes as an uninhibited kiss is pressed to his forehead. He didn’t expect Jean to be so outwardly affectionate, but there it is.

“Hi,” Marco says, feeling silly and young, and meets Jean’s eyes.

He’s bedraggled, hair sticking out every which way, more than a five o’clock shadow gracing his face, and Marco swears he’s never loved anyone so much in his life.

“I hate mornings,” Jean grumbles, pulling away from Marco and moving to get out of bed, padding totally un-self-consciously toward the basin on the opposite side of the room. He splashes some water on his face, and then shoots a glance over at Marco who’s been caught staring at Jean’s ass.

Jean immediately flushes slightly, and Marco just shoots him a cheeky smile and a wink.

“You’re a pervert,” Jean grumbles, looking embarrassed but also obviously pleased, even if he tries to hide it.

“And you’re grumpy in the morning,” Marco retorts in a sing-song voice, and then immediately burrows into Jean’s bedclothes with a smile. He pulls the blanket over his head, fully intending to get at least a few more minutes of sleep in when Jean goes to clean up in the tiny adjacent bathing area that higher ranking Survey Corps officers are rewarded with after a few years of service. It’s miniscule and has only a single tap, but it’s like living in the lap of luxury for Jean and Marco.

However, Marco’s plan doesn’t quite work out the way he expects, since he’s assaulted by an attack from above that he isn’t expecting as Jean lands on the bed.

“I’m grumpy because you’re a pain in the ass,” Jean laughs, embracing Marco through the sheets and then burrowing underneath to find him.

They press up against each other, indulging in enough time to make out a little bit more, hands and fingers skimming over skin, lips moving slowly.

“I can’t believe you still have this old quilt,” Marco says softly, his voice warm.

“I’d never get rid of this quilt,” Jean retorts, his eyes wide and downright aghast at the suggestion. “Your sister made it!”

Marco smiles, feeling his throat tighten with emotion at how much Jean still values such a small favor years ago.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replies softly, dropping his eyes and twining his fingers with Jean’s.

“I do like it,” Jean replies, “and I’m also terrified of your sisters!”

They both laugh over that—since it’s true—and then Marco almost dozes off again when Jean settles down next to him, stroking mesmerizing patterns against the back of his neck.

“Marco?”

“Yeah?” Marco asks with a lazy yawn, trying to keep his eyes open. He hasn’t felt this relaxed in months.

“Don’t get married.”

There’s a short breath as Marco kisses the words out of Jean’s mouth, and he just nods. “I was never going to anyway.”

Later in the morning, when they’re both dressed and ready to face the day, Jean doesn’t protest when Marco straightens his tie with a lingering touch.

And the next night, they finish the whiskey before going to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback GREATLY appreciated! :D


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